


Of Monsters and Men

by rightonthelimit



Series: Tom/Harry Drabble Collection [22]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 00:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightonthelimit/pseuds/rightonthelimit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yet Harry was haunted by a feeling of numbness, he was cold to his very core. He didn’t need to wonder where it came from. He already knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Monsters and Men

**Author's Note:**

> Something short, something slightly unfinished depending on how you look on it. Inspired by Little Talks – Of Monsters and Men

**A/N:** Something short, something slightly unfinished depending on how you look on it. Inspired by Little Talks – Of Monsters and Men

**Please do not repost, recreate or translate.**

**Summary:** Yet Harry was haunted by a feeling of numbness, he was cold to his very core. He didn’t need to wonder where it came from. He already knew.

 **Warnings:** Character death, angst

**Of Monsters And Men**

The old Victorian manor on top of the hill in Little Hangleton was a cold house, with ivy growing up the outer walls and weeds overflowing in the garden. It spoke of old glory, the only signs it was actually still inhabited was the car on the driveway and the lights that went on at night.

Young Harry Potter had never looked this bad before. He had always been a messy person but he had never let himself go like this, and his lover had always ensured that the house would be tended to.

But things changed. As did people.

Harry Potter was completely isolated. There was a stack of letters waiting for him in the letterbox just outside his home, his phone was off, all the doors were locked, the windows were shut and the curtains were drawn. The only light in the room was coming from a couple of candles standing on the dining table.

It was an old house, and like all old houses, it tended to creak and whispers of the past lingered within these walls, residing in empty rooms. But this room wasn’t empty.

Harry’s cutlery scraped over the porcelain plate he was eating from and he licked his lips, trying to put the words he wanted to say together for a moment.

‘I don’t like walking around this old and empty house,’ Harry mumbled around his mouthful of spaghetti. It was so quiet his voice nearly echoed through the room yet his husband paused, his hand hovering above his plate, a fork in his grip.

For a couple of seconds neither one spoke. The only audible noise was the ticking of the clock above Harry’s head (a wedding gift of Hermione) and the steady hum of the fridge. Harry was not expecting a sensible reply, because he had not asked a question in the first place. Saying something like that made him feel quite vulnerable. He had just admitted a weakness.

His husband was not fond of seeing Harry weak.

Harry hasn’t been sleeping right these past weeks. Bad dreams (of death, pain, blood, loneliness) woke him bathed in sweat. Harry was becoming paranoid. Every little noise kept him awake nowadays.

Harry glanced up when Tom reached out and squeezed his thin wrist with his large hand. Harry’s been losing weight too.

‘So hold my hand, I’ll walk with you, my dear,’ Tom assured him with a soft smile. Harry forced himself to smile too even if a feeling of wrongness haunted him. Even so, Tom’s kindness encouraged Harry to tell him more.

‘The stairs creak as I sleep, it’s keeping me awake,’ Harry added nonsensically when he noticed that his husband’s eyes lingered on his face, on the dark rings underneath Harry’s eyes undoubtedly. Harry longed for rest. His body craved it truthfully.

Still he could not suppress the shiver running down his spine as Tom kept staring at him with that uncanny expression in his eyes. Another reason to stay up at night.

‘It’s the house telling you to go to sleep,’ Tom finally said. His lips pressed together in a thin line and it was clear he wasn’t interested in any more of Harry’s random complaints, so Harry wisely kept his mouth shut.

Silence once more ruled the house.

 

* * *

For the longest time, Harry was happy with Tom. Tom made him laugh, cry, Tom was everything. They fought and made love, they were nothing short of a work of art when they were together.

But now more than ever, Harry felt like things weren’t alright.

Tom gazed at the lines of Harry’s back as Harry peered into their closet, Tom’s clothing neat and folded, as if it’s been like that for forever. Harry’s side was messier, borderline chaotic.

‘Some days, I can’t even dress myself,’ Harry mumbled to himself as he listlessly stared at all these fine fabrics but couldn’t come up with a reason to wear the garments in front of him, startling when Tom touched him. Harry didn’t turn around but he felt cold all of a sudden, like he was standing outside with no coat on. It didn’t make sense. All the windows were closed and the curtains were still drawn shut.

‘It’s killing me to see you like this,’ Tom murmured. Harry said nothing because Tom’s statement was preposterous and they both knew it.

Tom couldn’t die twice.

 

* * *

There were days Harry wanted to go home, only to discover that nowadays no house could serve that purpose for him.

Was it his sanity that was slipping through his nimble fingers or was it plain depression? What was the difference anyway when depression could lead to insane acts? Was Tom really here or was all of this a figment of Harry’s vivid imagination?

‘Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear,’ Tom stated softly from his position on the couch next to Harry, as if Harry’s inner turmoil was as loud as the gunshots that had robbed Tom of his mortal life.

Harry still said nothing.

He supposed Tom was right.


End file.
